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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29793951">June 1844 and Other Homecomings</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaysparkler/pseuds/gaysparkler'>gaysparkler</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Terror (TV 2018)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Being in the Navy SUCKS, Canon setting - Pre Franklin Expedition, Henry is not doing so well after coming back from the Opium War!!!, Hurt/Comfort, John cares about him a lot and they love each other very much, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 16:42:23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,628</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29793951</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaysparkler/pseuds/gaysparkler</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Henry returned from his five years on HMS Wanderer changed.</p><p>A healing, in coming home. John listens.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>John Bridgens/Henry "Harry" Peglar</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>There's a mood song for each chapter! Here's the first one: https://youtu.be/IsoiWjQnU08</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Henry returned from his five years on HMS <em>Wanderer</em> changed.</p><p>The ship’s assignment had started in the Americas and the Caribbean, but then a letter he had managed to send John told him of new orders from the Admiralty, asking of the Captain to sail to Africa to lead anti-slaving operations, lengthening his stay. John himself had taken a few posts here and there, on some small ships, just for a few months, hoping to catch Henry while off-service. Though from 1841, he had gotten no news – until he saw a list of the vessels engaged in the operations in China. John’s knees buckled when he found <em>Wanderer</em>, in neat print, near the bottom.</p><p>The following three years were a blur. John took on more assignments, trying to focus his mind on something else. There was nothing he could do for Henry, who was quite literally on the other side of the world. No way to send him any letters. John wrote them anyway.</p><p>He had been back a few weeks when Henry appeared on his—their doorstep, completely drenched from the summer rain, a shiny medal pinned to his worn uniform, his sea trunk by his side. John had barely opened the door when he found himself with a shivering Henry in his arms. John smoothed his hands over his hair, his back – he was here. He was safe, and home.</p><p>“You must be freezing,” John said, keeping Henry in his arms. It was June. “Let’s get you inside.”</p><p>Henry nodded. They reluctantly parted from their embrace so Henry could grab his trunk and come up. John was quick to put water to boil so Henry would have something warm. From his small kitchen, he could hear Henry unpacking, putting his things away in the drawers they had been sharing for the past eight years. John was pouring water in the cups when Henry walked in, in much more relaxed wear, now too loose around him, and a towel on his shoulders. The late afternoon light flooded the space. John closed the gap between them as the tea steeped. He grabbed the towel and brushed away the rainwater clinging to Henry’s face and hair. Henry closed his eyes, rimmed with dark blue, and lost himself in the touch, his hands hovering between their bodies, unsure of what to do. Five years apart meant some getting used to once reunited. Henry’s eyes fluttered open.</p><p>“I meant to send word ahead—”</p><p>“No, no, this is your home, too.” John put the towel away, then rubbed Henry’s arms up and down. “Do you still have your key?”</p><p>Henry looked down, his hands settling to fidget with the cuffs of his shirt. “I—I must have dropped it somewhere, I’m sorry.”</p><p>John cupped his face. “Henry,” he called, gently. “From what I heard, you’ve been through—through things I can’t even imagine in the last few years. I don’t blame you at all. I’m so glad you came home.”</p><p>Henry shifted his weight from foot to foot, gaze still evasive, but covered one of John’s hands with his own. “Thank you.”</p><p>“Will you come sit with me? I made some tea.”</p><p>~~~</p><p>John found Henry reading in what had become his nook, a cup of tea on the windowsill and a blanket over his legs. He had been too worried about borrowing some of John’s books for his assignment on Wanderer, and was now going through some of his favourites, as if to make sure he had not forgotten them all.</p><p>“I have to run some errands,” John said, popping his head in. “I shouldn’t be very long, just some groceries before the shops close.”</p><p>Henry looked up from his book and extended a hand towards him. John fully stepped in the space to grab it. He watched as Henry brought his hand to his lips to place a kiss inside his palm. “Do you have an umbrella?”</p><p>It took John a few seconds to find his words.  “Yes, it’s—” he took a sharp breath when Henry met his eyes, “right by the door so I won’t forget.”</p><p>“Alright,” Henry replied. He smiled, so gently, the first John had seen since he came back. “See you soon, then.”</p><p>John leaned in, kissed the top of Henry’s head, and made his way out. His hand felt cold.</p><p>~~~</p><p>The sun was starting to set by the time John returned. He made enough noise to ensure Henry heard he was back, though had no reply when he called his name. John moved fast, dropping his umbrella and his bags before making his way to Henry’s nook, heart tight and up in his throat. They had not spoken much of the past five years.</p><p>“Hen—”</p><p>Henry was asleep, his head against the window, and The Iliad fallen on his chest. A wave of relief washed over him, followed by one of fondness. He leaned against the wall, just to watch him. He was here, safe, and home. John quietly walked closer to grab the empty cup and card his fingers through Henry’s hair. On the table in the kitchen, he left a new key.</p><p>As he was chopping some vegetables for dinner, John heard some shuffling behind him. He smiled to himself, then felt Henry wrap his arms around his midsection and a warm chest press against his back. John kept cooking. They would get to talk about what had happened – the anti-slaving operations, the war, the medal he had seen on Henry’s uniform – later. In the immediate, Henry needed to be cared for, and John was more than happy to oblige.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Mood song for the chapter: https://youtu.be/72ye1IMywrQ</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>John stood in the doorway to the bedroom. Five years—five years since they had shared that bed, just big enough to house the two of them. Henry was already tucked in, at John’s insistence, not having slept in a real bed in so long. He did not want to pressure Henry in any physical contact he may not want. There was still some adaptation necessary, some great wall to scale before they could return to the kind of intimacy they had before.</p><p>“I’ll let you sleep, then,” John said, a blanket in his arms. Henry raised his head from the pillow.</p><p>“What? Where will you go?”</p><p>John pointed behind him. “I thought the couch would be appropriate.”</p><p>“Oh.”</p><p>He knew that disappointment all too well, the way Henry’s face fell, the way that single sound left his lips – learned from years unable to address or express the feelings between them while they were still on HMS Beagle. John took the first step, walking closer to the bed. Henry sat up in response.</p><p>“Do you—” He could not believe how hesitant he felt. “Would you like me to stay?”</p><p>Henry let out a sigh. “God, yes.”</p><p>John smiled as Henry lifted the covers for him to slip under. His heart’s nervous fluttering settled as he lied down and felt Henry reach for him, almost immediately. He turned to his side, slid an arm under Henry’s neck, then—</p><p>“<em>Christ</em>!” he yelped when two very cold feet pressed against his calf. The shock wore off quick, melting away with Henry’s clipped laugh. John only wrapped his arms around him – making sure Henry was comfortable with the touch beforehand – and pulled him close. “I’m only letting you do this because we’ve been apart for so long.”</p><p>Henry gripped John’s shoulders and hid his face in his neck. His feet were still plastered against John’s. He did not say anything, but John felt the wet warmth of tears sliding down on his skin. John held on, rubbed soothing circles on Henry’s back, passed gentle fingers through his hair, only parting to turn off the oil lamp on the bedside table. He let himself fall asleep only after Henry did.</p><p>~~~</p><p>The nightmares had been plaguing him from the day Wanderer began sailing back to England. Henry should not have been surprised to get one—more than one—once he had returned. He took a sharp breath as he opened his eyes, as though his heart was squeezed into his throat, the sound of gunshots and cannons in his ears and the smell of smoke and blood in his nose.</p><p>He blinked. Over and over again, the darkness unyielding, until he realized the bed he was on was not rocking under waves.</p><p><em>John. John. </em>His hand flew to his side, landing on John’s back. Henry let out a shaky exhale. The smoke from his dream stuck in his lungs—not real, not real. John was real. He did not even need to wake him up. John was already stirring.</p><p>“Henry?” His voice was low from sleep. Henry only gripped his shirt, did not say anything. John shifted, sat up as well, and wrapped an arm around Henry’s back and sought his free hand to hold. Henry had not noticed he was shaking until then. “Can you talk to me?”</p><p>“It’s—it’s the nightmares. They have not left me for…” Henry scoffed. “I don’t even know how long.”</p><p>John hummed, the sound reverberating through to Henry. “Would you like to talk about them?”</p><p>“I—” he let his head fall to John’s shoulder. “After we spent time on the coast of Africa, my Captain received an order, to abandon what we were doing and sail to China, as reinforcements.”</p><p>“Yes, I saw the listings. How…how long were you there?”</p><p>“Until ’42, when the Treaty of Nanking was signed. Because I—because I’m still relatively young, and quick, I got the order. Me, and most of the other young men on the ship. I never held a gun in my life, John. They just—shoved one in my hands and told me to shoot.”</p><p>“Henry—”</p><p>“No, no I want you to know.” He tried to get closer to John, to melt against him. It was the only place he felt safe, now. “It was just a few months before the treaty, I wasn’t there as long as some of the others, but…I wish I could forget all of it. You should have seen some of the men, when they got their medals. They were…they were <em>pleased</em>. I didn’t—don’t want mine.”</p><p>John held him tighter.</p><p>“I hated it. And it is haunting me. It was—it was just supposed to be a short assignment—” his voice broke. Closing his eyes, he could see the fires, the dead bodies. Some he had shot. He turned his face to press it against John’s shoulder, like he had done before, his hands moving up to grab at his nightshirt. John softly kissed the top of his head, though he could feel tears mixing with his affections. John held on.</p><p>“You didn’t know,” he said. “You couldn’t have known.”</p><p>Minutes trickled by, the silence only interrupted by the frequent hitches in both their breaths. Henry did not think John could ever run out of words, but there were few things he could say that would help. <em>It wasn’t your fault. You were just following orders.</em> Those were excuses to take away his responsibility—though refusing would have meant a court martial. He could tell John knew all of that, already.</p><p>Henry inhaled in, careful, controlled. He was safe, here. “I didn’t even tell you about the pirates yet.”</p><p>John froze. “Pirates? Good Lord, Henry.”</p><p>“Around Sumatra, February ’44, on our way back. Maybe I’ll keep that story for my next nightmare.” He placed a hand on John’s chest.</p><p>John immediately picked up on the change in mood. “That might be wise. Do you think you can try to sleep again?”</p><p>Henry nodded. John simply moved back to lie down, taking Henry with him, bodies still linked. Henry draped himself over John’s chest. He had not thought sleep possible, yet a wave of exhaustion washed over him as soon as he was settled.</p><p>“You are unbelievably brave, my love,” John whispered in his hair, before he drifted off to dream of the South American sea.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Mood song for this last chapter! https://youtu.be/gvz2oIzrKDQ</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I—” Henry cleared his throat. “I heard of some postings. The Discovery Service.”</p>
<p>John raised his head from the book he was reading.</p>
<p>“I was thinking of volunteering,” he added, his left hand fiddling with a button on his right sleeve.</p>
<p>He watched John place a marker within the pages and set his book aside. Henry had been home for a grand total of four months and already, a restlessness was setting in. He wanted to be back at sea, wanted to resume his position as Captain of the Foretop, but he suspected there was something else to it, too. There had been two years between his service on HMS <em>Beagle</em> and HMS <em>Ocean</em>, two years quite happily spent by John’s side, managing well on half-pay—and that waiting had been fine. Ever since he joined the Royal Navy, he had never spent more than a few months ashore. He never thought he would have been able to stay on land for so long, but then again, he had not met John yet.</p>
<p>No, he could tell this was different. Every night since his discharge from <em>Wanderer</em>, he woke breathless, tangled in sweat-soaked sheets, strands of hair sticking to his forehead. On the worse ones, a scream would tear its way out of him—saved himself the trouble of waking John. He felt stuck. Like he was halted in midair, trapped in a freefall. He had nowhere to climb, to run. And everyone still spoke so much of the war—</p>
<p>“Are you sure you want to go back? So soon?” John asked. Henry had not noticed he walked all the way up to him, his hands on his arms. He knew what John was thinking—the nightmares, the flinching at every loud sound.</p>
<p>Henry nodded. Let go of his button. He placed his hands on John’s shoulders. “You know me,” he tried to smile, “I can’t stand being on land for too long.”</p>
<p>John’s face fell at that. He tilted his head to the side and Henry knew he could see right through him. “Henry—”</p>
<p>“I love being here, John. I love being with you,” he took a deep breath, “I love <em>you</em>, but ever since I came back, I—”</p>
<p>He closed his eyes and dropped his head to John’s shoulder. In response, John wrapped his arms around him.</p>
<p>“I can’t <em>stand</em> the people here,” he continued. He felt his throat grow tighter, felt the burn in his eyes. “The way they talk about what happened in China. And I can’t—I miss the sea, but out there, you’re not with me—” his voice cracked.</p>
<p>“I’ll come with you.”</p>
<p>John’s voice was so quiet Henry thought he had imagined it. He peeled himself from John to look at him. To make sure he heard it right. John’s expression was one of determination.</p>
<p>“What?” Henry breathed. “Really? You don’t—you don’t even know what it is, where they’re going yet!”</p>
<p>John smiled, tentatively, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He moved his hands up to cup Henry’s face. “I’m due for a last, great, adventure, don’t you think? Wouldn’t hurt to try and volunteer.”</p>
<p>Henry choked out a laugh. “You really would?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” John nodded, his smile more certain. His thumbs gently stroked Henry’s cheeks, catching a few stray tears. “I love you. And if you think going back is the right decision, I’ll not stop you.”</p>
<p>Henry felt a smile forming on his face, the fear and anxiety about telling John of his intentions having vanished. He leaned in to catch John’s lips in a kiss.</p>
<p>Later, a hearty dinner on the table, their hands linked, Henry answered all of John’s questions about the upcoming Arctic Expedition, to be led by Sir John Franklin, set to depart in May 1845.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you so much for reading this little series and leaving comments 💖 This was the first time I posted Terror content and the response has been really, really great. I'm excited to post more!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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